


"I'm fine."

by Hermit9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Gen, Loss of Faith, NA meetings, Sam struggling with sobriety, Spoilers up to season 12, Tumblr: supernaturalpromptchallenge, bloodjunkie!Sam, generally being mean to Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9217160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9
Summary: “I’m fine.” The shrug and the soft smile are worn and practiced. Dean probably knows it’s a lie. But his brother has enough to keep buried on his side; he doesn’t push. It has become a mantra. “I’m fine.” Fine walking out of Lady Bevelle’s basement. Fine with a gut wound in the middle of the woods. Even in memories, stretching back, pain and disappointments. Running through the bunker. In the church, body about to fail from exhaustion. In the psychiatric ward, pumped full of every sedative known to man. “I’m fine.” “I’m fine.” “I’m fine.” A lie told often enough takes a tint of truth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SPN Prompt Challenge  
> Month : January 2017 (Emotions)  
> {PROMPT} - shame
> 
> I'm sorry...

“I’m fine.” The shrug and the soft smile are worn and practiced. Dean probably knows it’s a lie. But his brother has enough to keep buried on his side; he doesn’t push. It has become a mantra. “I’m fine.” Fine walking out of Lady Bevelle’s basement. Fine with a gut wound in the middle of the woods. Even in memories, stretching back, pain and disappointments. Running through the bunker. In the church, body about to fail from exhaustion. In the psychiatric ward, pumped full of every sedative known to man. “I’m fine.” “I’m fine.” “I’m fine.” A lie told often enough takes a tint of truth.

Sam isn’t fine, not really. There’s an itch beneath his skin, a hum in his brain when he tries to sleep. It claws at him, it burns behind his eyes, turns food sour in his throat. He wishes they would not work with Crowley so much.

He’s gotten good at hiding it. And maybe a demon dies a little messily once in a while. It wasn’t that Sam had forgotten how to fight, or gotten clumsy. He never stares at the bloodied blade anymore. But a slash, or a misplaced stab, and being out of breath isn’t a crime. Arterial spray is strong and warm. If some falls on his cheek or neck and he wipes it away no one says anything. It’s only part of the hunt. Blown pupils can be a side effect of adrenaline. It’s fine. 

Sometimes, he wakes up from dreams where Dean is still black-eyed and cocky, cuffed and tied in the dungeon. In his dreams he draws blood from his brother even as he injects the blessed cure from the other hand. Wondering at what point the dilution becomes too much when Dean’s blood will stop smelling so enticing. He changes from sweat-drenched clothes and goes for a run those days, burning the dreams with aching lungs and cramps in his legs. Dean makes a joke about all that running being unnatural. Sam laughs and shrugs it off before hitting the shower. He is glad Cas was able to remove the needle marks from Dean’s neck. 

They go on hunts and he waits for Dean to crack. His brother goes to find his own chemical peace at the bottom of a bottle or in the willing flesh in a bar. Sam declines, he has lore to read, or a movie to watch, or… Sam waits for the familiar rumble of the Impala to fade, then slinks out. They are easy to find, in a church basement, in community centers, in bingo halls with nicotine-stained walls. The locations change, but the rest varies very little. Cheap coffee, cookies or donuts, or anything else to use as an excuse or a focus. Stackable chairs. Shifting eyes and whispered welcomes.

“Hi, I’m Sam and I’m an addict.”

He quietly steps away when the group leader steers the discussion away from sharing and towards the spiritual steps, working the program.

“ _We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character_. Now, let’s discuss how each of us can apply that to our lives.”

Sometimes he misses his faith. But he’s seen God in stocking feet enthralled by Dean’s eclectic porn collection. He had The Creator drink his whiskey and raid his kitchen, It’s hard to pray with any honesty after that.

He still catches himself praying to Castiel; somehow _that_ still feels pure. In the early days, after Alistair but before Purgatory, the angel would answer him. There would be a flutter of wings and Cas would stand by his bed, silent and (since Dean never said anything) partially invisible. It was comforting, a stoic, solid presence watching over him as he shivered and spasmed under the cheap motel covers. Part of that comfort was the absolute certainty that Cas would stop him from leaving the room. They didn’t speak, but in the morning the angel would be gone, taking with him the bloodied claw marks where Sam had ripped the skin with his fingernails - at the collar bone, along the soft skin of the forearm, across his stomach - everywhere, so he wouldn’t go for his eyes.

But Cas had fallen, had become God and burnt his wings. He was one more anchor lost, a lifeline that hadn’t ever been his to hold anyways. Still, it had hurt to see him shivering under the Beast curse, and more when Lucifer wore him like an ill-fitted suit. There is an understanding now in his eyes that Sam isn’t sure he likes. Where there had been acceptance, now there was experience. “I’m fine,” Castiel answers the unspoken question.

“I’ll leave tomorrow,” Castiel says. The old Men of Letters mattress creaks under his weight. There is a cold, wet towel in his hands and he gently presses it across Sam’s brow. “But tonight, I shall watch over you, Sam Winchester.” Sam had not prayed that night. 

Sam falls asleep in lurching steps, thinking that it is fitting. Angels always watched over Dean, for he was so bright and good. Even when Dean didn’t want their attention. Sam had to wait for one to fall, one to become as broken and tainted as he is, before they finally elect to watch over him. Nobody pure cares for an abomination - duty used to guide Cas, watching over his begging charge, but this feels more like companionship. Still, Castiel is warm and steady and safe. There is no dream that night. Cas leaves in the morning.


End file.
